


Trepid Water

by beautysupreme



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, M/M, Roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25227577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautysupreme/pseuds/beautysupreme
Summary: Arthur craves intimacy and Dutch needs a distraction.
Relationships: Arthur Morgan/Dutch van der Linde
Comments: 13
Kudos: 61





	Trepid Water

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! I am super late to this wonderful game and fandom. I needed a break from my current chaptered fic and this was a nice reprieve. I hope you enjoy!

"Miss O'Shea has taken to sleeping in a corner downstairs." Arthur rested his hands on his belt and nodded toward the bedroom behind Dutch as the older man counted the notes in the collection box.

Dutch raised a brow as he put the notes neatly back in the box, taking a long draw on his cigar before speaking, "Miss O'Shea has lost her Goddamn mind."

Arthur had overheard their arguments and Dutch hadn't seemed phased by it when he asked if he wanted to talk, only making one passing statement that he had more important things to worry about. 

Dutch himself had been an exposed nerve since Blackwater, occasionally questioning all of their loyalty and working himself into tirades that had been meant to boost the gang's morale but put everyone more on edge. Just a few hours prior, Dutch had berated him over simply walking by as he discussed plans for a future job with Hosea. Arthur worried his mentor was becoming more and more unhinged. He often recalled what Javier told him about the ferry incident and he worried that everything he had based his life around was a gilded facade. Dutch was becoming less of the man he remembered; or perhaps his memories were more romanticized than the reality of it all a welcomed disillusionment. Between the Pinkertons, the local law, bounty hunters, and the O'Driscolls, he wasn't sure if Dutch had time to remember how things were before.

"You and John seem to have made amends." Dutch took another long drag of the cigar, studying Arthur's reaction. 

"Marston?" Arthur laughed. The tone of the man's voice was edged on jealousy and curiosity; Dutch van der Linde was jealous of a younger man. It was absurd enough to pull him from his thoughts, "Tell you the truth, Dutch? I realized I was never mad at John - not really. I was jealous. Jealous you didn't punish him the first time he ran off and just let it all go without another word. Sometimes I wonder if you were just gonna leave me with Colm."

"...Son, I told you I was coming for you. That was truth. I knew barging in there like I wanted would get us both killed. I needed a plan." Dutch walked into his bedroom, shaking his head, he tried sounding like a disappointed father, but the growl in his voice told Arthur to drop it, "I never knew you needed such reassurance. Just like Molly. That's my fault - must be something I'm attracted to yet simultaneously infuriated by."

As Dutch began to close the double doors, Arthur caught one, holding it's splintering mass steady. This wasn't how he planned their conversation to go. It had been too long; there were now three states between the last time they had touched. Arthur desperately needed the intimacy. He didn't exactly have time for romantic escapades and he had never much liked the idea of paying for sex; it seemed too desperate, too sad. Seeing Mary again in Valentine after so long only exacerbated those feelings. Since Issac's death, he had refrained from the company of women altogether, terrified of possibly experiencing the pain of such a tremendous loss again. He also hoped it would give Dutch a distraction, if not settle him a little.

"Dutch," He followed the older man into the bedroom, watching him lie back on the bed, taking another drag of the cigar, "I'm sorry. I just...It's been a while. I miss it s'all."

"You know, you can be more vocal about your...needs, son." Dutch sat up and reached toward him, resting his hand on Author's hip. He pushed the hem of his shirt up with his thumb, making a small circle on the soft skin stretching over the sharp jut of his hip bone, "If it appeals to your strange sense of morality, I haven't shared my bed with Miss O'Shea in some time...I've been under a lot of pressure since Blackwater."

"I know you're tense - _everything_ \- has been tense," Arthur let his head fall to the side to play into it, still nursing the wound from Dutch's earlier outburst. He could be petty enough to sacrifice his own desires to get in a jab, "You should see one of those bath girl's in town. Y'know, they throw in a great shoulder rub."

When he walked toward the hall, Dutch caught his wrist, "Do you aim to tease me, son?"

"Did I succeed?" Arthur stood still as the older man looked him up and down. 

"You did." Dutch hooked his fingers on Authur's jeans, pulling him toward him. 

"Good. Go find a bath girl in Saint Denis. There's a real nice blonde I met after you drug me around those swamps up in Lagras," Arthur smirked as he leaned into the room for a brief moment, a mock attempt at a seductive whisper, "Think of me, Dutch."

As Authur closed the doors, he rested his forehead against them. He slowly closed his eyes as he released a soft sigh. His erection pressed firmly against his jeans, punishing both Dutch and himself. He caught himself as the doors opened, almost falling onto the floor. Dutch stared daggers into his skull, not looking away as he took a fifty cent piece from his pocket and slid it into Arthur's, "Bring the clean water up here, _bath girl_."

Arthur smirked and silently made his way to the pails of boiled water sitting near Pearson's cook station. He looked around, happy that no one paid him any mind as he picked up two of the buckets and made his way back to the older man, careful to keep the water from sloshing out on the stairs.

Dutch must have heard his footsteps because no sooner had he stepped in front of the bedroom door, the man appeared, impatiently taking the pails.

"We'll need more than this. There's a washtub in that room." He nodded to a door in the corner of the bedroom. Arthur had not noticed it after clearing the house of it's former occupants.

"Susan will complain." Arthur leaned against the wall, not thrilled about the possibility of others questioning his acquisition of all the bath water.

Dutch stared at him for a moment, simultaneously amused by his consideration for the others and irritated at his lack of wanting to please him before all else. Arthur shifted under the man's stare, feeling childish, "I'll tell Pearson to boil more."

"You do that, Arthur...or should I say, bath girl. Perhaps Alice would fit you."

Arthur cut a glance at Dutch before heading out for the last of the water. He did enjoy the teasing though; a welcome change to the man's state of constant questioning or irritation. As he retrieved the remaining two buckets, Ms. Grimshaw stopped him and he felt his face burning as his mind concocted an excuse. He had never been a good liar.

"Before you start Ms. Grimshaw, it's for Dutch."

"Well then I have two questions, Mr. Morgan. What on Earth is Dutch doing with all of our clean water and why is he having _you_ fetch it? Tell him to have one of these lazy girls earn their keep. Tilly! Mary Beth! Get over here!"

"No - Mary Beth, Tilly, it's fine. It's fine, Ms. Grimshaw. But we'll need more."

"I see. Some _plan_ , I'm sure. I'll have Mr. Pearson boil more. Here I was thinking he was having you draw a bath for him. Be sure to get some rest Mr. Morgan."

"Sure. Good night, ladies," Arthur nodded to the women, relieved Ms. Grimshaw was pleased with her own assumption and leaving it at that to return to the house.

Dimming sunlight cast a soft glow over the splintering floorboards of the weathered house. The weeping trees cast long shadows through the tall window and up the staircase. Several more trips spent refilling the buckets under a scowling Mr. Pearson's glare later, the tub was half full and Dutch told him they had enough.

"You know," Arthur cast a glance of irritation at the older man when he didn't make a move to help him fill the old tub, "You could help, Dutch. I'm not really a bath girl."

"This seems to be your fantasy, Arthur. I just want to make sure you get the full experience. Far be it from me to hurry this all along."

Arthur shook his head as he picked up another bucket and poured more water into the tub. He heard the other man retrieve the last two pails and sit one by the tub as he poured the other. 

He watched Dutch gather a washcloth and a bar of soap from the cupboard in the corner of the room. Arthur stood to stretch his back, facing the other man. The older man returned to the spot beside him, tossing the items into the last remaining bucket. Dutch held a breath for a moment, looking Arthur up and down. He placed his hands on the younger man's shoulders, indicating what he was about to say was important and he didn't want to have to repeat it again.

"I meant what I said when we rode to the bayou. I just need to know _you're_ with me, Arthur. Not John. Not Molly. Not even Hosea." Dutch's hands slid down his arms, feeling each tight cord.

Arthur inhaled the man's scent: bergamot tobacco, whiskey, and pomade. He had found himself missing it all too often on nights alone in the wilderness. He knew Dutch was full of sentiments and pretty words - he had watched him with women - and they were just that, pretty sentiments for the moment and that was all. But it was still nice to hear them. Dutch could give him that much effort, "And I meant what I said - _always_ , Dutch. But...You seem to be getting closer to Micah...I saw him sitting by your tent back at Clemens Point..."

"Arthur... _You_ matter most to me, son. Don't make me keep repeating it. I am sorry I caused you to doubt that - that I didn't make it clear. I will march you out there right now and take you in front of our entire camp if you want - though I doubt that's the case."

"Just like to hear it from time to time s'all." Arthur forced a soft laugh to defuse the tension, resting his hands on Dutch's hips. He watched Dutch sigh, a feigned cue of exhaustion with Arthur's questioning and need for reassurance.

"Well, I will make sure you hear it more often." Dutch kissed Arthur's knuckles in a mock display of courtship and nodded toward the bathwater, "Now what do you say about that bath?"

Arthur nodded, his manhood painfully hard from Dutch's affection, whether sarcastically implied or otherwise. He caught himself watching the man unbutton his vest, mouth slightly agape until he realized he was staring like a teenager. Dutch reached toward him, starting on his shirt buttons as well. When half the buttons were undone, the man's rough hand dipped into the opening. Arthur softly moaned at the feeling of Dutch's hand running over his chest. The man petted him for a few fleeting moments before his hand glided up his neck and into his hair, grabbing the short blonde locks to jerk his head to the side and expose Arthur's neck. 

Another moan escaped Arthur when the older man's lips touched his flushed skin, sucking and kissing a path from his sensitive neck to his nipples. His cock was painfully hard, a small stain of precum bleeding through his thin undergarments and pants. He nearly whimpered when Dutch pulled away, abruptly ending contact. The man slowly unbuttoned his sleeve cuffs, taking his time with every tiny movement. Dutch was punishing him for his behavior earlier.

"Can we hurry this part up?" Arthur blurted out. Dutch glanced at him, a flash of irritation evident. A soundless sigh raised the man's chest as he paused on the last button of his shirt. The younger man quickly decided to appeal to the man's ego in apology, "Sorry, it's just...I need you, Dutch. I need this."

From what he could tell, Dutch accepted it as he shrugged off his shirt and motioned for Arthur to finish undressing him. Arthur did so quickly, hands masterfully unbuttoning Dutch's pants and removing his holsters. As he carefully sat the garments to the side, he watched the man step into the bath and sink into the steaming water. He bit his lip as Dutch began rinsing his hair. Arthur had always prefered when his jet black hair was loose, framing his face. It gave him the softness Arthur feared he was losing under all the pressure.

Arthur knelt beside the tub, running his fingertips over the surface of the water. The older man leaned back, his chest slowly rising and falling in deep, slow breaths. Arthur felt himself relaxing as well, his tongue becoming loose, "If you and Molly haven't been together in so long...why didn't you call on me, Dutch?

"I've had a lot on my mind...I didn't need Hosea seeing us or overhearing us in the tents. That man would never spare me his judgement if he found out and that's the last thing I need. Bring me a drink, will you, son?"

"Hosea sees me as a son. He's just protective is all." Arthur shrugged as he handed a glass of whiskey to Dutch.

"Exactly. He would see me as taking advantage of all the trust you've placed in me."

"I don't see it that way." Arthur pressed his thumbs into the bottom of Dutch's neck, rubbing small circles. He smiled when he heard a deep sigh escape the man and saw his shoulders relaxed

"Good. It has been a burden on my heart." Dutch took a sip of the liqueur and a drag of the cigar. He exhaled slowly before snuffing out the cigar on a small stool by the tub.

"Seems you're thinking too much about everything." He mimiced commentary from the bath girls he'd spoke with on occassion as he took the washcloth from the bucket with soap and scrubbed his mentor's neck and shoulders before cleaning each arm. 

Dutch leaned against the back of the tub and closed his eyes as he took another sip of the whiskey before placing it on the stool as well. He relaxed his arms over the sides of the tub as Arthur gently swirled the rag over his chest. 

"Besides," Arthur watched the man's black chest hair gather in a circular path under his demonstrations. He caressed the man's nipples and though he said nothing, he noticed how Dutch's fingers twitched as they rested by the rim of the tub. Arthur shifted his stance, his erection was painfully pressing against his jeans, which were pulled taught across the crotch due to the way he knelt beside the tub. He stood, to adjust himself amused by how attentive Dutch was to his motion, dark eyes resting on the bulge, "I'm a grown man."

"That I can clearly see," Dutch placed his hand flat against Arthur's hip, rubbing his thumb over the obvious erection. He sat his hands to work releasing Arthur's cock from its confines. 

"Dutch," The name came out as a strangled moan, a desperate prayer. For release. For attention. For their old relationship without all the underlying suspicion. For intimacy. 

A wet hand wrapped around him, thumb wiping the embarrassing amount of precum from his slit before delivering a few long, slow strokes. Dutch's other hand slowly caressed his inner thigh, sending a shiver through Arthur, slowly traveling up his leg to absently play with the dark blonde curls of pubic hair. He watched wordlessly as Dutch moved to his knees in the water and took him in his mouth. 

Arthur carefully buried his fingers in the man's dark hair, as if any sudden movement would scare him off like the stag he had tracked for half the day just for it to run off when Lemoyne Raiders shot at him. This had never happened before, not with Dutch, but lord how he had fantasized of it, hardly daring to do so. It was always him on his knees in front of Dutch in the tents or stage coaches. He enjoyed it too, eager to please the man and bring them closer. When Bill and Javier would make jibes at how Dutch showed preference to him, he would demean them for being childish but he knew there was truth to their words and he delighted in it.

"Y'know, this is supposed to be to relax _you_ , not me."

He silently cursed himself as the warm heat of Dutch's mouth left him, the tip of his tongue teasing the head of his cock and tracing the vein that ran up his length. Dutch glanced up at Arthur, "This does relax me. Think of it as an overdue reward for saving that boy in the swamp - and don't worry, we'll get back to the normal swing of things."

"I ain't complainin'." Arthur closed his eyes as Dutch took him back in his mouth, setting a steady pace. He recalled his first time with the man. 

_It was in his early twenties, still heart broken after Mary left and fresh out of his brief relationship with Eliza, before he knew of her pregnancy. He was holed up in a hotel with Dutch and Hosea, on the run a few counties away from their first bank robbery. On the getaway, Dutch's horse was killed and he rode behind Arthur. He remembered how embarrassed he had been, hard from the adrenaline of the bank job and from Dutch holding his waist. He could still feel Dutch's hand sliding down his side and over his crotch, groping him, "You did well, son."_

_When they were far enough away, they bought a room at the first hotel they found. After they settled, Dutch sent Hosea to check out some lead on an abandoned homestead in a remote corner they could lay low at. Dutch had complimented him on his demeanor during the robbery and Arthur basked in the glow of it, always eager to please the man. He had been lying on the bed, propped up on his elbows, watching Dutch clean himself off and change clothes._

_He had always envied how charming Dutch was with every woman they came across, noticing how they swooned. He wanted him too, envious and swooning at the thickness of the man's cock. When Dutch caught him staring, he made his way to the foot of the bed, crawling over Arthur._

_Arthur knew what society thought of homosexuals and he hadn't given it much thought. He had always been attracted to women but there was something about Dutch that drew him in. That coupled with his gratitude and the seductive life of a savage paradise, free from the restrictions of modern society, he offered him._

_He remembered wanting the man so intensely in that moment that nothing else mattered. He pushed him on his back and made quick work of his belt. Dutch helped him along, unbuttoning his pants so Arthur could suck him. He was inexperienced, choking and stopping due to his aching jaw, but Dutch had been patient with him._

Now, he felt the man's wet hand press between his thighs, prompting him to adjust his stance and spread his legs. He moaned loudly as the man gently pressed the tip of his finger inside him, sucking him and fingering him at the same time. Arthur found himself pressing down on the digit to gain more length. He tried to be quiet but it had been so long. He worried John or his family would hear him if they were in their room. To both his relief and dismay, Dutch pulled away, settling back into the bath, leaving Arthur ruddy faced and breathless. 

"What do you get up to with these bathmaids, I wonder?" Dutch chuckled, paying no mind to Arthur's state. As the older man closed his eyes, he propped his leg up on the edge of the tub.

Arthur ignored the question as he knelt beside the tub again, retrieving the soap and washcloth. He set to scrubbing the man's leg. As he leaned closer to wash the man's thigh, Dutch reached up to trace Arthur's collar bone through his unbuttoned shirt. 

Arthur smirked, leaning into the man's touch and giving him a better view of his chest. He slowly ran the washcloth over Dutch's thigh. He watched the man close his eyes and inhale as Arthur gripped his cock, delivering long, slow stokes. As the man leaned back, exposing his neck, Arthur took the chance to press a few kisses there and along the man's jawline. Without warning, Dutch pulled him into the tub, kissing him hard on the mouth.

Arthur gasped as the man pulled away, his clothes soaking wet. Dutch laughed at the younger man, wide eyed and shocked like a drenched cat. Arthur wanted to punch him square in the nose but instead opted to straddle the dark haired man, grab his face and kiss him again. He pressed his tongue against Dutch's, tasting him for the first time in months. A deep laugh erupted from Dutch's chest, "Here I was thinking you were as celibate as Reverend Swanson. Is this what you do with those women?"

"You know I'm loyal to you in more ways than these other men." Arthur awkwardly slid his wet jeans off, throwing them toward the corner to retrieve later. Dutch helped him with his shirt, still chuckling in with amusement as he pressed his mouth against Arthur's.

Strong hands pressed into Arthur's hips as Dutch guided him down on his cock. The water helped but it had been so long, Dutch nearly tore him as he thrust upward. Arthur gasped, wrapping his arms around the older man. He felt Dutch smile in the kiss, pleased at how tight Arthur was, completely captivated and entranced by the feel of Arthur's body, "My, my...You have been faithful, my boy."

"...'course, Dutch. Always." Arthur gasped as Dutch's arms tightened around him, delivering reward as he began drilling into that tiny bundle of nerves that left Arthur a whimpering mess.

"Do you know what men in some of these other gangs call you?" Dutch growled as he thrust harder into the younger man, watching his jaw slacken as his whimpered, in no state to respond, " _Pretty boy._ Such a...vague and unimaginative nickname for how gorgeous you truly are, how strong, how skilled you are, Arthur…"

"What do you call me, Dutch?" Arthur grunted out between thrusts, his insides burning and cock throbbing as the man mercilessly assaulted his prostate.

"Mine."

It sent Arthur tumbling over the edge, tightening around Dutch as he came hard, biting down on the man's shoulder to stifle his cry of passion. Dutch soon followed, spilling inside of him, breath heavy on Arthur's ear. Arthur moaned as he was flooded with warmth from the other man, feeling overwhelmingly, satisfyingly full. After a few moments he fished for the washcloth and he stood on shaking legs. Dutch watched, entranced by his seed leaking down Arthur's thighs. Arthur quickly cleaned himself off and stepped out of the tub. He looked at himself in the mirror as Dutch began to dress.

"You were right. That was relaxing. Thank you, Arthur. Why...why don't you sleep here tonight?"

"Yeah? You sure?" Arthur raised his brow, wondering if the man had considered the reprecussions if Molly decided to join him in the night. 

"Positive. You can't walk out there in wet clothes. Throw them over the balcony." Dutch finished securing his belt, "Mr. Pearson should be finished with dinner. I'll bring some up for us."

"Alright." Arthur nodded, following the man out of the bathroom. He picked up a book from the nightstand as he watched Dutch leave. Miller. _Of course_.

He sat the book back down after spotting a clean pair of undergarments on one of Dutch's open suitcases and stepped into them. Arthur retrieved his wet clothes from the bathroom and stepped out on the balcony to drape them over the ledge. As he looked out at the camp, he saw Dutch exit the front entrance beneath him and Micah stepped out of the shadows, quickly approaching him. Arthur took petty satisfaction in seeing Dutch silently raise his hand to the man to indicate he didn't want to speak, continuing past him. 

As Dutch left him there, Micah shook his head. He stood there for a moment before he caught sight of Arthur on the balcony, locking eyes with him. Micah folded his arms over his chest and Arthur leaned on the railing of the balcony, maintaining eye contact until Micah walked away, disappearing back into the darkness.

Arthur returned to the bedroom and settled on the bed, eager to forget the storm closing in on them for just one night. He picked the book up again and turned to a page Dutch had marked, reading over Miller's poetic waxings of anarchism. He knew how Dutch idolized Miller's ideas and though he found all of the author's words just pretty dribble, he would entertain it tonight. 


End file.
